


The Haze: Morning After

by Gem_Gem



Series: The Haze [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Awkwardness, John has a nice bottom too, M/M, Morning After
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-23
Packaged: 2018-05-08 16:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5505437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keep calm and...keep things fair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Haze: Morning After

**Author's Note:**

> You lovely people wanted the morning after, so here it is!  
> Not sure if this is present number two...seeing as it's combined with the first.
> 
> Merry Christmas!
> 
> I hope to post a Christmas themed short either tomorrow or on Christmas day (yes I'll be writing on Christmas day...after the presents and the christmas dinner of course)

Sunlight burned his eyes, seeping around his eyeballs like knife edged fingers, and John squirmed and rolled over roughly to escape, finding and then falling off the side of the bed in a loud and extremely painful thud. After the overall shock of the tumble, John opened his eyes with a wince and groaned, cupping his head. He felt sick to the stomach, dehydrated, and extremely dizzy. His body was hot and clammy with sweat, and the carpet beneath his naked skin itched as he shifted up onto his creaking knees. 

“What happened?” Sherlock rumbled sleepily, and John turned to be face to face with his befuddled, bemused and very naked friend. Sherlock peered at him through his dark eyelashes and then frowned and shielded his face from the sun as he glanced around. “Where are my bed covers?”

Struggling to his feet, John swayed and stared down at his own nakedness with wide, incredulous eyes, “Oh…Oh no. Oh God…” 

“Ah,” Sherlock mumbled once he stretched from the bottom of the bed to pick up the crumple of sticky sheets, “Right. They were covered with—”

Both John and Sherlock looked suddenly at each other, and Sherlock jumped from the bed in a fumble of limbs and a flush, pointing at John in disbelief. His shaking finger motioned to the entirety of John and then just his flaccid penis, and John covered himself in embarrassment and a sudden swell of panic, clenching his jaw and eyes shut briefly in humiliation. Shaking his head, Sherlock then frowned in dawning shock and reached back to his bottom slowly, his eyebrows jumping up under his fringe.

“Oh God.” He whispered, and his eyes started to flitter back and forth quickly.

“Yeah,” John breathed, backing clumsily to the open bedroom door, concealing his genitals with one hand as he used the other to gesture to Sherlock as calmly as he could. “We…I…you—Drunk! We were drunk. So…so this…this doesn’t…this isn’t anything…right? – Shit, are we okay?” 

Sherlock cocked his head aside and then blinked, still touching himself gently with his fingers. He was shaking minutely and John swallowed and watched a cascade of goose bumps rush down Sherlock’s naked skin before he quickly looked away and knocked into the bedroom doorframe. The light was still hurting his eyes, sending wave after wave of discomfort to throb at his temples and the back of his head, and John grimaced and lowered his gaze. On the floor, not too far from his feet, were his clothes, bundled messily in the corner of the room and intermingled with Sherlock’s shirt and belt. 

“Blasted sun,” Sherlock abruptly grumbled, striding over to wrench the curtains closed and stare at the floor. He rubbed his head, swayed, and then leaned one shoulder into the wall with a quivering sigh, like he was nervous and awfully timid for a second.

“Sherlock?” John’s voice cracked awkwardly and he cleared his throat, looking out of the room and back. “Sherlock…are you—I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“I don’t remember,” Sherlock whispered without turning around, his hands by his sides. “Did you?”

“I…” John blinked and then, with another rolling of queasiness, grabbed for his clothes and pulled on his underwear and jeans to feel less exposed, walking slowly over to Sherlock. “Hey…um…Sherlock. Look at me? Let me—if you’re in pain, you…need to tell me.”

Gradually, feeling mortified and suddenly very, heavily guilty, John closed the distance between them and reached out, clearing his throat again. The tension was thick and somehow ear cringingly quiet, and John sighed through his nose just for something to break the silence. When he was within touching range, Sherlock fluidly straightened but didn’t turn around until John laid a hand on the slope of one shoulder, and when he did turn, he lifted a finger and smiled faintly, his gaze unfocused and flickering. John frowned and followed him as Sherlock made his way back to the bed and drifted his hands above the mattress a few times, the motions similar to when he visited his mind palace to sort through data.

John blushed as he watched, “Um, Sherlock?”

“Ah!” Sherlock exclaimed, clicking his fingers and then turning to John with a smug expression. “I remember some of it. Most of it. Not all of it, not yet, but I don’t exactly need that much to know what happened – I already know what we did. It’s, well, pretty obvious, wouldn’t you say? If not by my sore anus, then definitely by the evidence left on the sheets—You’re washing them, by the way.”

“I—What? Wait a minute,” John tried as Sherlock rubbed his backside again with a small twist of his mouth, “what do you remember exactly? Do you remember how we even got into the situation that we found ourselves in?”

Sherlock held his head and shifted his stance, and then turned for the door, “I need painkillers. And water. And something for my arse – What do you recommend?” he said in one breath, pausing at the doorway with a heavy squint. “Shouldn’t you be having some sort of sexuality crisis?”

John stuttered to a stop and then began backing up slowly when Sherlock titled his body and trailed after him, “Listen—”

“Have you done this before?” Sherlock asked, before pausing and opening his mouth in realisation. “You have. Really? That’s…interesting.”

“No,” John frowned and lifted his hands, feeling awkward and defensive. “No. Wait. I…I haven’t done—”

“You’ve been anally penetrated?” Sherlock shook his head a second later and frowned, staring deviously at John as he moved closer. “No. That’s not it. Is it? No – Oh, you’ve done it with a woman. Well, I suppose this is only marginally different, John. But I’m not a woman—And you’re still not panicking as much as you possibly should be… Why not?”

John glared and pushed his hands on Sherlock’s naked chest, “Sherlock. Stop—And get some clothes on.”

“My anus hurts,” Sherlock told him with a meaningful and pointed lift of his eyebrows, “so excuse me for not wanting to put underwear on when I’ll just be taking it off to deal with whatever you’ve done.”

“I haven’t done anything—Okay, fine, let me…see,” John told him, swallowing thickly and massaging his temples with one hand. “Or at least tell me what sort of feeling it is? I am a doctor – Is it…a burning sensation? Or just… the sensation of sore muscles?”

“You’re not looking at my arse. You did that enough last night, thank you very much,” Sherlock said curtly and rubbed his brow as he walked to the bathroom.

“Then let me…feel,” John said as he quickly followed, grabbing the bathroom door before it closed, “I really should check, Sherlock.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, “Deviant.”

“Sherlock.” Sternly, John ignored the pounding in his head and shoved the door open, pushing in after Sherlock and lowering his gaze to try and see any evidence of damage. “I need to check that you’re okay!”

Sherlock glared and moved away, backing into the bathroom wall and then the towel rack, “You’re fortunate I didn’t defecate on you, you know.”

“You hardly eat!” John scoffed and scrubbed both hands over his face. “Look, Sherlock, please, just let me make sure nothing is torn – We were drunk. It might have blocked out pain.”

“At least you wore a condom,” Sherlock was muttering as he noticed the used condom in the bin and crossed his arms, looking stubborn and wincing at the light coming in through bathroom window with a scowl. 

John ignored the flush and jolt of panic and uneasiness, and glowered, “Sherlock!”

“Fine,” Sherlock replied with another wince, bowing his head down, “just don’t shout!”

After a moment of silence, Sherlock turned around and knocked his head softly into the wall with a huff, rolling his forehead against the cool tiles and presenting his back and rear to John with an exaggerated sweep of his arms. The bite mark he’d left on Sherlock’s shoulder was the first thing that John stared at, and he tracked the indentations made by his teeth with a flush as he stepped forward and reached to part Sherlock’s buttocks with his hands. The warm, pert flesh made him pause and recall thrusting against it madly, and he glanced up at the nape of Sherlock’s neck with a low, coiling flutter of arousal before continuing.

The area was slightly pink and John adjusted his grip and crawled his fingers to Sherlock’s hips, “Arch your back and lift your hips for me,” he instructed as professionally as he could.

“Is that what you said to me last night too?” Sherlock drawled sardonically as he obeyed with a flex of his spine, presenting more of his backside to John’s gaze and lifting his arms to cross them over his head. “I hate this. And for the record, I hate you too – I’m sore, my mouth is dry, I have a headache, and my bedroom smells like sex.”

John rolled his eyes and let Sherlock’s buttocks spring back into place with another flutter of arousal, “You look fine – but if you bleed or experience a lot of pain, you need to tell me straight away. All right?”

With a nod and a strained sigh, Sherlock turned back around, “Yes, Doctor – Or should I call you something else now? Lover? No. Sex partner? Nope. Oh, I know, how about—”

“You were begging for it from what I remember!” John interrupted with a sudden burst of anger, and Sherlock blinked and blushed so fast and deep that he moved and sat down slowly on the edge of the bath. “Yeah! I seem to recall you telling me just how good it felt too!”

“…Did I?” Sherlock meekly asked, though his expression hardened a millisecond later. “I was drunk!”

“As was I!” John told him, cringing as his voice reverberating off the bathroom walls deafeningly. “I’d have to be to shag you.”

The instant the words left his mouth, Sherlock flinched and looked up at him with wide eyes, and John felt all the anger drain rapidly away at the sight of them. Shaking his head he dropped a hand to Sherlock’s shoulder in apology and then moved it to cup his nape with a squeeze, trying to ease the tension he found there. Sherlock remained tense and silent for a full minute, staring at him, and then he glanced away, relaxed under John’s fingers and got back to his feet. The atmosphere was odd, neither good nor bad, but somewhere in between, and it closed in on John like the air was slowly getting sucked out.

“I didn’t mean what I—”

“I need to urinate, please leave,” Sherlock said blankly and waved at the bathroom door. “Get water and painkillers. Do something useful.”

“Are we okay?” John asked again idly as he shuffled out and kept his eyes on Sherlock, admiring the slope of his back. “I mean, we are, right? We can get over this?”

Sherlock frowned at him deeply, the crease between his brows deeper than John had ever seen it before, “You’re an idiot,” he intoned and slammed the door shut in John’s face.

With a sigh John made his way into the living room and gaped at the clutter they had apparently left behind the night before. The scotch was half empty; some of it spilt down the side of the bottle, soaked into the label, some more of it was in a sticky puddle on the table, and two used glasses were turned over and dripping on the settee. The entire place smelt like alcohol and heat, and John moaned under his breath in annoyance, tripping into the kitchen for a big glass of cold water, and then another one. The water helped but only slightly and he glanced back out at the living room again with a grimace, unable to remember anything of what happened before Sherlock and he had moved into the bedroom.

The toilet flushed, jerking John from his thoughts, and he turned to Sherlock when he finally ambled into the kitchen wearing his dressing gown, “We made a right mess of the sitting room,” he mumbled pointlessly, filling the empty glass in his hand again to pass to Sherlock. “Here. Drink this.”

“I see that,” Sherlock groused, and John watched the shift of his eyes as he scanned each and every object, his brow furrowed in concentration. “We started off there, by the fireplace and in our chairs, and then moved across to the settee for some reason—You realise this was all your fault, don’t you?”

“What? My fault? How do you figure that one out?” John glared, folding his arms over his bare chest and then looking down at it when Sherlock eyed him up. “What? You’re still practically naked, so you’re one to talk.”

“It’s your fault,” Sherlock replied after a large gulp of water and a sigh, motioning to the room with one finger, “because you’re the one who started it.”

John scoffed and then frowned, “How do you know that? – Do you remember that?”

“…No,” Sherlock muttered, looking into the water and tilting his head. “But it has to be you. I wouldn’t start it.”

“We. Were. Both. Drunk,” John growled and grabbed his head as it ached painfully in his anger. “How can you say it was either of us or what either of us would or wouldn’t do? We were pissed! People do stupid things when they’re piss drunk – Not that you’re a stupid thing that I did when I was—wait, let me start over…”

Sherlock’s mouth quirked and he finished his water, smacking his lips together amusingly, “We used lubrication.”

John waited for Sherlock to carry on but when he didn’t John snorted shortly with a wave of his hand, “Yes? And?”

“It’s yours.” The way Sherlock stated it made something in John’s gut twist, flip upside down and then flutter. “As was the condom.”

“How could you know that?—”

“Because I don’t have condoms or lubrication, John,” Sherlock told him with a tight smile, putting the glass down in the sink with a sharp tap. “That means, it was your idea and therefore your fault – You started it, possibly with a kiss, though I cannot be entirely sure, and then you rushed upstairs to get your supplies, came back, and dragged me into my bedroom—”

John flushed and irritably gestured around the kitchen, “It doesn’t exactly look like you were “dragged” kicking and screaming, does it? – Surely you would have put up a fight if you didn’t want to—”

“I was drunk!” Sherlock announced with a flustered wave of his hands. “If I had been in my right mind, I would have refused you out right! – Why on earth would I agree to be anally penetrated for the first time, if I hadn’t have been just a little bit deluded with drink?”

Blinking and feeling suddenly cold, John swallowed with difficulty, “First time?”

“Well obviously,” Sherlock snapped with a roll of his eyes, and then grabbed his head with a wince, pulling a packet of ibuprofen from his dressing gown pocket. “Do you think I just go around being fucked up the arse on a daily basis?”

“Jesus…” John scowled, falling against the kitchen table, feeling dizzy with guilt. “No. No of course not – I just didn’t think about it until now—God, I’m so sorry, Sherlock, I…I don’t know what else to say. I wasn’t in my right mind either.”

Sherlock swallowed two tablets and then forced two more into John’s hand, “Don’t feel too badly about it – According to you, I really quite enjoyed it,” he said and patted John’s arm condescendingly.

“You did,” John glowered over his brow. “I was going to go, you know. I sobered a bit during…during it, and I was going to leave, but you…”

The vivid memory of Sherlock’s bending spine and tensing arse made John abruptly lightheaded and he leaned a little more heavily against the table with a hard swallow. Sherlock’s skin had been patched with blushes of arousal that had turned the normally pale porcelain skin an attractive pink, and the indentations on his lower back, right above his pert buttocks, had deepened with each and every arch of his hips. John recalled suddenly how Sherlock’s arse had felt stretched around him, how tight and hot and wet and glorious it had been, and John couldn’t breathe for a second.

“What?” Sherlock asked, briskly yanking John back to reality. He was staring at John with growing suspicion, his cheeks flushing once he flashed him an accusatory look. “Dear lord—You’re thinking about it, aren’t you? You’re remembering and… savouring!”

“No,” John said, and even to his own ears it sounded weak. “Look, I just keep getting flashes of memory, that’s all, and I…”

“You want to do it again,” Sherlock reproached and took a shaky step back, laughing deeply but without humour, “You liked it – No, not liked it, but loved it, fully enjoyed—”

“So did you! Or did you forget that?” John retorted back in embarrassment.

The blush crawling up Sherlock’s face deepened, “Yes, actually, I don’t remember a lot of it – Just…some sensation and sight…and—Stop looking at me!”

“I bet you’re the one who started it,” John suddenly said, stepping up close to Sherlock and backing him into the corner of the kitchen counter, “Yeah. I’d do anything for you. You just say the word and I do it. Last night was probably no different – And it makes sense that we’d do it in your room and that I was the one to rush upstairs to get the things needed because you ordered me to—”

“No!” Sherlock said, his voice wavering right before he licked his lips and shook his head. “No. This was you. You’re the most experienced out of us and you get rather randy when you’ve had a few too many.”

John snorted and remembered suddenly what Sherlock’s erection felt like in his hand, “I’m not experienced with this sort of thing – I mean, yes, I’ve done a lot of things with women, but I’ve not done anything like that with a man before—”

“An arse is an arse,” Sherlock cut in and turned his head aside a little with a clench of his jaw, exposing the length of his pinking neck. “And seeing as I’ve never done anything like that then—”

“You have a great arse,” John heard himself mutter lowly, and glanced quickly up at Sherlock’s widening eyes in shock. “I…I mean—Fuck it. Yeah. Okay. It’s…nice. As arses go, you’ve…hit the jackpot…”

Sherlock’s pupils shifted, dilating and then narrowing, only to dilate once more, “…Thank you,” he murmured, seeming unexpectedly lost but amused. “As is…yours…”

“Yeah?” John exhaled, smiling before he could stop it. “Um. Right. Thanks. – It’s a lie, but thanks anyway.”

“I’m not lying,” Sherlock scoffed and suddenly turned his head to look down at John with a frown, “What would I gain from lying to you?”

John wondered vaguely if he was still a little drunk because he tilted his head, took a shaky breath and overlooked the rapid thundering of his heart, “Would you…? You know, would you…do…the same to me? If given the chance?” he asked, frowning, cringing at his words and stepping back, feeling sick with shame and anxiety. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

“Yes you do,” Sherlock rumbled, and the tone of his voice had changed to such a degree that John shivered with it and peeked up into his face. Sherlock was staring at John with a considering look, his lips pressed together and his fingers twitching at his sides before they flicked with a flourish through the air idly as he breathed out and added, “Well, it would be fair...”

“Fair,” John echoed and nodded, then frowned and shook his head. “No—Wait, what?”

“You’ve taken me. Only fair that I…take you in return,” Sherlock told him quietly, lifting his eyebrows in slight apprehension. “Don’t you think so?” 

John’s chest felt like it was being gradually constricted by harsh invisible rope and he stood rigidly, not breathing, not blinking, for several rough throbs of his heart that resonated in his temples and groin, “…Where?” he whispered.

“Your bedroom, I think,” Sherlock replied just as softly, and then looked away as he pulled the lube bottle from his other pocket, handing it over to a startled and alarmed John. “Might want to restock later. We used quite a bit of it.”

“N-now then? – I mean, are we…should we…I…um…maybe we shouldn’t, this is insane!—First of all, we were drunk last night, so…you know, it’s different. Second of all, you can hardly remember what happened, and I don’t remember everything either, so…so this isn’t fair at all! And…th-third…I’m not…we…we don’t…we shouldn’t—Jesus Christ…”

Sherlock shrugged and pushed past John roughly, filling his glass with more water, “Could get drunk again if you like? I don’t care. I’m going for a shower—”

Grabbing Sherlock’s arm, John gripped lube bottle tightly and grit his teeth, feeling hot and overly flustered, “Fine, but after me. I need to…get…ready first…”

**Author's Note:**

> Cliffhanger ending!
> 
> Feedback fuels me!


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